Tale of a Mage
by Jack Storm 448
Summary: Magic; the power to manipulate reality itself. But to one mage-boy, blessed with extraordinary magical abilities, but cursed to spend his life on the run, magic only leads to death. Will he escape his fate, or be forced to confront it; enter the land of Wesnoth, and find out. Based on the game, 'The Battle for Wesnoth'.
1. Introduction

**Publisher's note: This is a little story I've wanted to do for some time now; hopefully, even all you people who've never heard of The Battle for Wesnoth will find this story interesting. It will be somewhat more serious than my other works, the Rising Storm books, but it should be fun nonetheless.  
**

**Also, here is a link to a map of Wesnoth; I suggest that you load it up while you read, or it may be hard to follow in some places. Thank you for your time; constructive criticisms are welcome.**

** Geography_of_Wesnoth**

* * *

Excerpt: Royal Wesnothian Archives.

Author: Unknown.

Date of entry: AD 2014.

* * *

In an obscure corner of space, there was a small, unremarkable galaxy. But in that galaxy, there was a truly remarkable world by the name of Irdya. Now, Irdya itself was not anything special as planets go; it was actually much like Earth in matters of size, atmospheric condition, distance from its own star, and the abundance of rivers, lakes, oceans, and seas.

However, there were also many differences between that world and this; the continents were arranged very differently, and the people there were, for the most part, at the technological level of Earth's Middle Ages. The real difference was, however, the inhabitants themselves. For this world, despite not having guns, or telephones, or automobiles, had one distinct advantage over most any other;

Magic.

Now, I most certainly do not mean the optical tricks that Earth's inhabitants enjoy so much. I speak of true magic; I speak of commanding the world around you to alter itself, and watching it obey.

However, not all the inhabitants of Irdya could use magic; normal humans, as those on Earth, could not work any magic except through artifacts imbued with magical properties. However, there were other races.

The dwarves; short, sturdy, and incredibly strong. While not being able to use magic themselves, they were masters of the art of Runic Magic; inscribing an object with ancient letters of a long forgotten language, and using the object as a conduit for magic. They also controlled the most advanced technology on that world; not what you would see on Earth, but wondrous nonetheless.

Next, the most noble race, the elves; tall, stately, graceful, and of fair complexions for the most part. Also, blessed with inhuman speed, strength, reflexes, enhanced senses, and near immortality. And that's not even to mention their aptitude for magic; although primarily studied by their young women, elvish nobles were commonly trained in its use. In all, they were not people to pick a fight with; fortunately, they loved peace as much as they loved nature.

Probably the most intimidating of the races, the drakons, also known as drakes. Lesser cousins of true dragons, and not to be confused with them, but no less formidable; males were, on average, around nine feet tall, covered in crimson scales, with large, leathery wings, and the trademark flaming breath. Although, unlike their larger cousins, they usually walked on two feet, and wielded both armor, and various (large) weapons.

Finally, by far the most magically gifted of all the races, mages; identical to humans in appearance, except for their eyes, which glow like molten gold when using powerful magic. Stereotypically weaker, and less resilient then humans, but only for being more inclined to study than to work. In truth, mages only differ from humans in that they have an innate aptitude for magic, that even the elves did not possess. However, like elves, the mages were primarily peace-loving.

Now, you might be wondering; what exactly is magic? The truth of the matter is, that question has taken scholars their entire lives to unravel, and I do not have time to explain it here. What I will say is this; there is an extradimensional energy coursing throughout al of reality, known as the Mana Field; if you have trouble visualizing this, think 'The Force'. Now, certain species of beings can sense, and interact with the Mana Field. Mages use their bodies and minds as conduits for Mana Energy, channelling it into the physical world, and using it to reshape reality around them to their liking.

If you think that this is too much power for any individual to possess, you would be forgiven; however, magic is not as easy as it seems at first glance. The first rule of magic, that every novice have hammered into their heads on the first day at any academy of magic; magic always has a price.

With the exception of some exotic spells, the price of magic is usually exacted from the caster's body, in the form of energy; when Mana passes through a mage's body to enter the physical world, the sheer amount of energy passing through the caster's body all at once, puts immense strain on the caster's mind and body. When a mage becomes more attuned to the Mana Field, the strain decreases, and the mage can channel more Mana at once, and thus can cast more powerful spells. However, if a mage tries to channel too much Mana, the strain can literally burn him to ashes.

If you survived this long, boring introduction, then you are ready for the real story; it takes place in the kingdom of Wesnoth, where a young mage-boy is running for his life...


	2. Chapter 1

It was a dark night in Weldyn, the capital city of Wesnoth; it was a new moon, and the sky was cloudy. For this reason, this was the night a young mage-boy chose to escape. Unfortunately, sneaking out of Weldyn was much harder than it seemed on paper.

"Stop," commanded the night-guard captain, "State your identity, and intent."

The boy turned slowly; he was around nineteen years of age, of middling height, and had a body like a cat; lithe, and designed for the hunt. He also had stormy grey eyes, and a shock of ragged raven-black hair. A bulging traveller's-bag was slung over his right shoulder, but he carried it like it was empty.

He was wearing the traditional brown cloak of a Journeyman Mage; graduate magi who preferred studying the world first-hand, rather than through books, and went out into the wild to learn as much as possible. However, not even Journeyman Magi were allowed to leave the city after nightfall, and the boy knew this.

"My name is Karazin Dusk-walker," he said, "and I was just out for a walk."

The patrol of night-guards, five in all, surreptitiously surrounded him.

"Young man," the patrol's captain asked, "Are you aware of Weldyn's curfew? No one is allowed to enter or exit the gates after dark."

"Oh, I'm well aware of it; I just don't care."

The captain was somewhat taken aback at this blatant disregard of the law, "Well, then I'll have to ask you to come with us."

Karazin's face remained a blank, "Unless you intend to escort me outside, I think not."

The patrol immediately assumed combat-stances; they knew this boy was a mage, but they didn't know how strong he was. If it came to a fight, they would be ready for any kind of magical trickery.

"You will come with us peacefully," the captain said, "Or we will be forced to consider you hostile, and capture you by force."

An faint smile crossed Karazin's face, "You'll have to catch me first."

With that, he displayed the meaning of 'deceptively strong', and made a tremendous leap right over the guard's heads; it would have worked too, had they been anyone other than Royal Wesnothian Guards, the best trained soldiers in the kingdom. As it was, the guard over which Karazin leaped, used the but of his poleaxe to knock the mage-boy out of the air.

Karazin hit the ground hard, and rolled for several feet before stopping. Fortunately, before the guards could capture him, the mage-boy leaped to his feet and took off running. Unfortunately, the guards followed at speeds you wouldn't think that men in that much armour could achieve. Karazin was still much faster though, and quickly outdistanced them; until he ran into the great gate of Weldyn.

Confronted by several layers of spell-enhanced iron and wood, and unyielding stone on either side, Karazin did the only thing he could do; he went up. Up the wall, climbing hand over hand, using twin grappling irons to keep himself anchored. By the time he reached the top of the wall, his hidden muscles were screaming at him to stop, but he kept going, down the other side. And once he was outside the city, the guards wouldn't even be able to chase him until morning, by which time, he would be gone.

Once well out of sight of the city's walls, Karazin set his course North-East to Soradoc; the Northernmost border outpost of Wesnoth. Beyond that, was nothing but the North-lands; wild, untamed, and outside of Wesnothian control. The only people who lived there, were Elves, Orcs, Dwarves, and a few ragtag groups of human outlaws. There, he might be safe.

Unfortunately, before he got to the North-lands, he would have to travel for several days along the Weldyn River; he'd have to lay low until he was outside Wesnoth's borders, or _they _would be on him like buzzards on carrion. And if they caught him, and took him back to Weldyn, it wouldn't be pleasant.

* * *

The journey to Soradoc was a hard one; the boy was forced to avoid the main road, for fear of being caught, and forge his own path instead. Still, the journey was fairly peaceful; he met no one for two days.

Every night, he set up a rudimentary campsite, and ate from what food he had brought with him from the city. And every morning, as soon as the sun rose over the Eastern Hills, he would pack up and resume his walking. He walked all day, only stopping for lunch at midday.

Unfortunately, the peace and quiet couldn't last long; the closer Karazin got to the border, the safer he'd be from _them, _but the more likely it was that he would run into something else. Orcs, bandits, various animals that would want to eat him, the North-lands were only safe in comparison. However, even he was surprised at how quickly he ran into trouble.

On the morning of the third day of his journey, Karazin packed up his makeshift campsite as usual, and headed out just as the sun was starting to rise. He was just entering a section of low hills along the Weldyn River; an inconvenience, but not too difficult to traverse.

He didn't get far into them though, as he was stopped by a large man in rugged leathers, that had definitely seen better days. However, it wasn't the man's clothes that made Karazin stop, it was the sword the man was pointing at him.

"So," Karazin asked, "Let me guess; you're going to rob me now?"

The man laughed at him, "Now, why would I do that? I'm an honest man. It just concerns me to see a boy like you travelling alone through these hills. Any number of things could happen to you."

Karazin was not impressed, "And your point is?"

"I'd like to offer my services as an escort through these dangerous lands; for a small fee, of course."

This time, it was Karazin's turn to laugh, "A small fee? I thought you said you weren't here to rob me."

The man kept a calm face, "It's only a few pieces; nothing big."

The mage-boy shook his head, "Sorry, but I need what little I've got. Good day."

Karazin moved to walk past, but the man blocked him with his sword, "You don't understand; there's all kinds of things in these hills, and we wouldn't want something unfortunate to happen to you."

Karazin surreptitiously reached under his cloak, "In other words, you have men stationed all around us; am I right?"

His intuition proved to be right, as almost a dozen armed men popped from behind their cover, and surrounded him.

"Now then," continued the highwayman, "Are we going to do this peacefully, or not?"

A smile spread across the mage-boy's face, "How about, I show you what 'seven years of the best sword training money can buy' looks like."

Without any further warning, the mage-boy withdrew a strange kind of sword from under his cloak; the blade was about three feet long, straight as an arrow, single-edged, and thinner than most other sword designs. With this curious sword, he effortlessly disarmed the man in front of him within the space of a second. The bandit's sword clattered to the ground, and Karazin placed his blade against the man's neck.

"Now then," Karazin said in a mocking tone of voice, "Are we going to do this peacefully, or not?"

The bandits lunged at him, but he simply took them as they came; they were untrained, uncoordinated, and pitifully armed. Karazin didn't even break a sweat as he dealt with them each in turn. He made sure not to kill any of them, aiming mostly for the hands and legs, but he still gave them a sound thrashing; these bandits wouldn't be ambushing anyone else any time soon.

Once all the men were incapacitated, Karazin set his blade at the neck of their leader, "Now then, would you be kind enough to tell me what a group of bandits like you, are doing less than three days journey from Weldyn?"

The bandit leader was reluctant to say anything, so Karazin pressed his sword a little closer, "Talk."

Fortunately for the bandit's neck, his will broke before his skin did, "Alright, alright, I'll talk! It happened a couple days ago. For some reason, around where the Great and Weldyn Rivers meet, the border-guard all vanished; they just disappeared! Without the border-guard, it's open season on unsuspecting travellers from the Grey Woods to Soradoc."

This news troubled Karazin, "Do you know why they vanished?"

"No; all I know is that it's never been easier to cross the Great River, and plenty of people are taking advantage of it."

Karazin put his sword away, "Thanks; that's good to know. I'll be taking my leave then."

* * *

Despite the bandit's words, the rest of the trip was relatively uneventful; apparently, the highwaymen who ambushed him, were one of the few groups who didn't know a mage when they saw one. So, a full six days after he left Weldyn, he arrived at the river-fort of Soradoc. However, what he saw there froze his stomach;

Soradoc had been burned to the ground!


	3. Chapter 2

Karazin walked through the razed city in a state of shock; the walls were nothing but crumbled ruins, and the housed little more than charred husks. The charred bodies of men, women, and children lay scattered on the ground; slaughtered where they stood. All the mage-boy could see was death, and destruction. It all but broke him.

Then, amidst the carnage, he saw something that chilled his blood; one of the bodies, mangled and obviously dead, was moving towards him.

"Necromancy!" Karazin exclaimed in horror.

The corpse got to its feet and shambled towards him, like an animal intent on its prey. As it walked slowly towards him, Karazin's mind was gripped by a fear so deep, so primal, that he turned and ran quite a distance before his head cleared.

At that point, the mage-boy turned on his heel, reached into his pack, and took out a small glass orb containing a fine white powder. He deftly lobbed the orb at the possessed corpse, and on impact, it burst into a roaring pillar of flame; it incinerated the undead monstrosity, and everything around it.

Karazin watched the blaze with a blank expression, but his mind was in turmoil. It was painfully obvious to him what had happened to Soradoc. For some reason, a powerful necromancer had come down from the North, and razed the city to the ground. What had Karazin worried though, was where the necromancer had gone next, and how many undead minions he had summoned; enough to burn Soradoc, and not even bother using the inhabitants to swell the ranks of his forces.

Karazin went to what was left of the main gate of the city, and looked for footprints. What he found confirmed his fears; a large army of the undead, at least five hundred in number, and likely more. And though that wasn't a large force by the standards of men, that many undead could easily take a fort like Soradoc.

The undead were the single greatest threat to Wesnoth in the old days; dead bodies conjured to false life by necromancy, they were all but impervious to conventional weapons. The only way to be sure of destroying them, was with fire, or powerful magic. To practice necromancy was a crime punishable by death, but that didn't scare those who thought they commanded death.

However, no one had seen a necromancer since the Great Purge; Humans, Magi, Elves, Dwarves, and Drakes all joined forces to eradicate all necromancy from Wesnoth. It was the greatest combined movement of the Five Races, and it left Wesnoth a much safer, and more stable kingdom. Like anything, there was a sour note; many innocent people were wrongly accused of necromancy, and executed with them. However, for almost a hundred years, Wesnoth enjoyed a time of peace and prosperity thanks to the Great Purge. Therefore, the attack on Soradoc troubled Karazin even more.

However, there was one thing that truly confused him; the undead clearly came from the North, but they also departed in the same direction. This looked, for all intents and purposes, like a hit-and-run raid.

However, something just did not add up; hit-and-run was not what necromancer did, it just wasn't in their mindset. A necromancer would gather enough strength, and then raze everything in his path. But if the necromancer tried that, he would have to get an enormous force across the Great River; the only way to do that, was by the Ford of Abez.

The mage-boy looked to the East, and remembered what the bandit said; from the Grey Woods to Soradoc. However, there was another important outpost-city in between those two; Tath. Tath controlled the entire area around Gryphon Mountain, up to the Ford of Abez. If the necromancer took Tath, then he would have full access to the Ford.

Karazin tracked the undead force back towards the North-land, but didn't have to go far; sure enough, the force soon veered off to the East, straight towards Tath.

"If it happened a few days ago," the mage-boy muttered to himself, "Then the necromancer could still be waiting at Tath for the rest of his forces to come down from the Ford," he pulled a glass orb from his pack, "I'd hoped I wouldn't have to use this, but desperate times... Fort Tath!"

With that, he smashed the orb on the ground; within seconds, the landscape began to blur and fade, and then disappear altogether. For several seconds, there was nothing; no light, no sound. Just an intense cold blackness, that was the trademark of powerful teleportation spells. Then, everything snapped back into place, right in the middle of a ruined city.

Not that Karazin had much time to observe it, as he had landed right in the middle of the undead army. Every head, with or without skin, turned to stare at him. Their soulless eyes turning his stomach to ice, and his legs to limp noodles. These were the very embodiment of everything humanity feared; anyone who could face these abominations without fear, was a madman.

Karazin stood stock still, not moving a muscle, then began to edge towards cover. The undead were, for all their unholy strength, merely puppets; if their master didn't order them to attack, then they would just leave him alone. However, Lady Luck was not with Karazin that day; just as he was approaching the edge of the crowd, he saw a man in a dark cloak approaching the army. And more importantly, the figure saw Karazin.

"Get that boy! Bring him to me," the necromancer commanded his thralls, and they obeyed.

Karazin tried to fight back, but his sword had almost no effect on the monsters. Soon, the mage-boy was subdued and brought before the necromancer; the man looked at Karazin, as though he were an interesting specimen of some exotic animal. Karazin couldn't see his face beneath the hood of him cloak, but it probably wasn't pretty; use of necromancy tended to corrupt and decay the flesh, and the mind.

"What is your name, Boy?" The necromancer asked.

"Karazin Dusk-walker, _sir,_" he replied, sarcasm dripping from his lips on the last word.

The necromancer scowled, "Insolence will only make your death slow, and painful. Now, what are you doing here? Has word reached Dan'Tonk of my presence?"

Karazin smiled, "In fact, yes; the king has already received word, and is sending all his forces to confront you. I was sent to keep an eye on your activity. You'll never defeat them with this puny force; you've lost."

The necromancer laughed at this, "So you may think, but the rest of my army shall arrive soon; we shall conquer Wesnoth yet, and you will help us. Alive, or dead."

"How could I possibly help you, and why would I?"

"You know where the troops are coming from, and how far away they are; you will help me, because you don't have a choice."

This time, it was Karazin's turn to laugh, "If death is the worst you can do to me, then I defy you; I don't fear death."

The necromancer scowled again, "Then die, worm!"

With that, the necromancer grabbed a battle-axe from one of his soldiers, and swung it at the mage-boy's neck. However, as soon as the blade touched his skin, Karazin disappeared into thin air.

"You really shouldn't have done that," Karazin said from behind the necromancer, "You've forced my hand; now, I'll have to deal with you quickly."

The necromancer recoiled, "A Mage?!"

"In the flesh."

"It makes no difference," the necromancer conjured a crackling bolt of black lightning in is hand, "No mage-boy can hope to defeat me!"

Karazin smirked, "Then it's a good thing I'm no ordinary mage-boy. Have at thee!"

With that, Karazin's sword seemed to leap into his hand; he slashed the air in front of him, and a blade of golden energy flew from his sword towards the necromancer. The unfortunate evildoer attempted to counter the spell with his own, but the blade of energy completely overpowered his shadow-bolt, and knocked him to the ground.

_"That felt good," _Karazin thought to himself, _"but I can't play with him too much; 'they' will be able to track me now."_

"Kill him!" the necromancer commanded his thralls.

Karazin turned towards the horde of undead, just in time to telekinetically grab a volley of bone-shafted arrows out of the air. He then lit the arrows with a magical white fire, and used telekinesis to launch them back at the undead; the returned volley devastated the undead ranks, the white fire turning them to dust. However, enough of them remained to warrant a fire-bolt tossed into their midst, incinerating the rest.

The necromancer stood still for a second, and watched in shock as the mage-boy easily decimated the entire undead force. Then, getting over his shock, the dark wizard conjured another shadow-bolt, and flung it at Karazin.

The mage-boy simply caught the spell in his hand, and flung it right back, knocking the necromancer to the ground once more.

Karazin stood over the necromancer with a grim expression on his face, and his sword in his hand, "The penalty for necromancy is death, and high treason to the crown is the same; killing two city's worth of innocent men, women, and children adds a third, personal strike against you."

The necromancer shied away from the mage-boy, but then attempted to recover his dignity, "You don't have the authority to pass judgment on me!"

Karazin frowned, "If I kill you now, it will spare you much pain and suffering. And I have all the authority I need."

With a cry of desperation, the necromancer drew a dagger from his cloak, and attempted to run Karazin through the heart with it. The mage-boy's sword flashed, and the necromancer's head fell to the ground.

Then, before he knew what was happening, he felt a pain in his chest; he looked down, to see a bone shaft protruding from his body. He looked up in shock, to see a skeletal archer stringing another arrow to it's bow.

Another arrow thudded into his body, but Karazin couldn't think clearly enough to do anything; everything began to slip away, and darkness covered his eyes. The last thing he saw, was a series of bright flashes of light, before the darkness consumed him.


	4. Chapter 3

Karazin awoke in a large bed, made from dark oak-wood, furnished with fine silk sheets, and swan-feather pillows. He knew all this, because he remembered this room; it was his, when he trained at the Delfador Academy of Magic. This academy was one of the two main academies of magic, and the second to be established, after the Isle of Alduin Academy.

The Delfador Academy was in Elduria, the Mage capital; nestled within the Grey Woods, in the North-East corner of Wesnoth. Elduria, and all lawful Magi, were governed by the High Council; a group of the oldest and wisest Magi alive. The High Council owed allegiance only to the King of Wesnoth himself, and he was the only one from which they took orders.

However, after a moment of reminiscing, Karazin realized a few things; one, his wounds were completely healed, and two, he shouldn't even be here. Although, not that it was a pleasant surprise.

Then, the door opened and a blond-haired mage-girl peered in, covering her eyes with her hand, "Are you decent?"

Karazin looked at himself, and found that he was not. However, he saw his clothes neatly folded at the foot of the bed, and they looked like they had been washed. The mage-girl retracted her head from the doorway, and Karazin got dressed.

"Alright," he said once he was finished, "You can come in now."

The girl was, Karazin estimated, around eighteen years of age, and lightly built. She had what you might call a 'petite' nose, blue, slightly cat-like eyes, and a small mouth that was currently curled into a smile. She was wearing the traditional, and stereotypical brown silk robes, that looked a little like a dress/night-gown.

Karazin had always hated the standard robes, and had turned to the alternative, 'masculine', variety, that more closely resembled a martial arts uniform.

The girl's robes were stitched with the Academy crest, and the double silver star that marked her as a senior student; almost a graduate. These students were dubbed 'apprentices', and we're usually assigned as just that to various craftsmen, to learn their trade; tailors, blacksmiths, farmers, masons, bakers, all sorts, and usually Magi themselves. Some however, like this girl, stayed at the Academy and kept to their studies; these usually became soldiers, scholars, or scientists.

Karazin, when he had become an apprentice, had chosen to become a journeyman; to go out, and see the world. As such, he was given the crest of the winding roadless to signify his status to any other mages he met. Journeymen Magi were somewhat different from the other trades, and they were sometimes looked down upon for being tradeless drifters, but it was generally agreed that journeymen Magi often became some of the strongest.

Karazin introduced himself like a gentleman, "Karazin Duskwalker, at your service."

"Oh, come now," the mage-girl said, "We both know that's not your real name."

Karazin drew in his breath sharply in surprise, and the girl frowned in confusion, "What's the matter?"

"H-how did you recognize me?"

She reached out here hand to take his, but he recoiled.

"Don't you remember me?" she asked, "The girl who welcomed you to the Academy on your first year; who always asked to sit next to you at every meal; who broke down the walls you set up to keep people out; who your parents said you couldn't marry; who you promised to marry anyway; who you danced with on graduation day, before you left the Academy... How could you not remember?"

Before she even finished, the fog around Karazin's mind began to lift; a fog of all the sorrow and pain he had gone through in the past year.

"Maria?" he said tentatively.

The mage-girl looked extremely relieved, "So, you do remember."

"How could I forget?" Karazin asked himself.

Maria sighed, "Well, what with your father... That kind of grief tends to make you forget better times, and I suppose you were under a lot of stress too. But that still doesn't explain, why are you calling yourself Karazin? And, for that matter, why aren't you in Weldyn? Shouldn't you be..."

"That's exactly why I ran away!" Karazin interrupted, "I couldn't take on that responsibility. Just because I'm the oldest, doesn't mean I'd be good at it; my brother was always the better choice. If I had stayed, and taken the inheritance, it would've become as big a mess as anything in those history books you love."

"Oh, come now," Maria assured him, "It wouldn't be that bad."

Karazin sighed, "Now it's you who isn't remembering, Johnathan and I are polar opposites; where he's responsible and trustworthy, and has a strong sense of duty, I'm nothing but a slither-outer. Where he's a strong and steadfast warrior, I'm a mage; a powerful one at that, and you know what happened the last time a mage took the position."

"You're not your great-grandmother," Maria assured him, "And no one thinks you are."

"And yet," he insisted, "In people's experience, whenever a mage is put in a position of power, nothing good comes of it; everything my father worked for would crumble back to nothing."

Maria sighed again, "Oh, J..."

"DON'T SAY IT!" Karazin exclaimed, placing his hand over her mouth.

She quickly slapped his hand away, "What's the matter with you?"

Karazin was, to his credit, suitably apologetic, "Sorry, but if they're half as skilled as they're supposed to be, then they'll have hexed my name, as well as a few other words. As long as you're around me, please watch what you say; a wrong word, and they'll be able to track me with their eyes closed."

The mage-girl threw her hands in the air in frustration, "I keep telling you, you shouldn't be running away anyway; even if you do become..."

Karazin placed his hand over her mouth again, but hastily removed it, "Sorry, again; that's one of the hexed words."

With a sigh, she continued, "Even if you do... take the job, it won't blow up in your face like that. You've gone out into the world; people have met you, they like you..."

"But they won't respect me," Karazin interrupted again, "they'll fear me; my ancestry makes sure of that, and it's exactly what I don't want.."

Maria took his hand, "I don't fear you."

Karazin looked into her eyes for a few heartbeats, but then looked away and changed the subject, "Speaking of which, what have you been doing lately? I haven't see you since I left the Academy."

"I can see I'll have to break down those walls again," she muttered under her breath, "Well, I've been busy with my studies; I've trended more towards magic theory lately, and I've learned a lot..."

"Sorry, hold on a second," Karazin interrupted, "if I'm here, then the Council knows about it; they probably even arranged it. And if they know I'm here, then why haven't they called for me yet?"

Maria slapped her forehead, "Oh, that's why I'm here; they sent me to wake you up, and bring you to them."

"Then we've already spent too much time talking; if we don't get moving, they won't be pleased. You can tell me about what you've learned, afterwards."

With that, they made a hasty beeline for the citadel; the castle in the centre of the city, and where the Council always assembled. It was a grand building, made from the finest marble, and built by the finest Dwarven masons. Only the royal castle in Weldyn surpassed it in terms of craftsmanship, and grandeur. Unfortunately, Karazin couldn't admire the citadel for too long, and the Council wasn't nearly so pleasant to look at.

"Ah, 'Karazin', you are here; there is much we must discuss," said the head Councilman, Coradoc. He was an ancient-looking man with white hair and a long white beard, and dressed in pristine white robes; the stereotypical High Mage. He was also one of the two Council members, who's name Karazin could remember.

The woman seated to his right was not quite as old, and her hair was the colour of moonlight, but she was wearing the same white robes.

The man seated next to her was completely bald, but had more than enough of his jet-black beard to compensate; his robes were light grey, and he was holding an ebony staff with a crystal at the tip.

The woman to Coradoc's left had pure white hair, and startling silver eyes; Karazin remembered that she was an master Seer, and sometimes caught glimpses of the future, but she was completely blind as well.

The last member of the Council was the youngest of them all, being (in human terms) around twenty-five years of age, and he was also the only other Council member who's name Karazin knew; Coran. He had a messy mop of straw coloured hair, and blue eyes; he was wearing the same kind of robes as Karazin, but in the deep blue that was reserved for Arcanesters.

Arcanesters were the most powerful of all Magi, and were highly respected by all; they were so closely attuned to the Mana Field, that their bodies were made of magic more than flesh and blood. Arcanesters could go for months without food or water, they were immune to most poisons, their bodies healed at unnatural rates and never aged, and their magical prowess was what legends were made of; literally. No one knew how Magi became Arcanesters, but it was extremely rare; usually, a new Arcanester appeared every fifty years or so. However, there had been two in the last decade so far; Coran was one of them.

Maria respectfully backed out of the room; what was said inside, was only for the ears of those saying it. The Council had placed more than enough magical wards around it to make sure that only certain people could get in, and no sound could get out.

"No doubt you have questions," continued Coradoc.

Karazin barely needed to think about it, "Actually, I do; for one, why did I not wake up in my bed back in Weldyn? As soon as I used magic to defeat the necromancer, _they_ could track me easily; according to an order that I'm sure was given, they should have teleported to me immediately, and taken me back."

Coradoc fixed him with look so piercing, people said he could see into your soul, "Is that your wish?"

Karazin tried to remain stalwart beneath Coradoc's gaze, but he was forced to avert his eyes, "No, but I would still like an explanation."

"Then you shall have one," Coradoc replied, "We've been watching you, since long before you became Karazin Duskwalker. You were one of the most powerful students in the academy; with your heritage in mind, it was really no surprise. Thus, when you decided to run away from Weldyn, we took much interest; when we saw you use magic, we knew that your pursuers would not be far behind. So, we sent a team of Farseekers to find you before they did."

Farseekers weren't elite caste of mage scouts; using their mastery of spatial distortion, also known as teleportation, to become faster on their feet than anyone on horseback.

"When they arrived, they immediately brought you back here for healing. They left seconds before the royal forces arrived to deal with the remaining undead. The rest, I'm sure you can guess."

Karazin could guess, but one question remained, "Why? Why are you taking a hand in affairs, now of all times?"

"Your death, at the hands of a necromancer no less, would have had lasting repercussions; you think that you can run away from your problems, but you run at the risk of creating bigger ones."

"Then why haven't you handed me over to them?" Karazin replied in exasperation, "Wouldn't that solve all the problems?"

"Except for yours," answered Coran, "Think what you will of the Council, but we are loyal to the Wesnothian Crown; we will not abandon the Crown Prince."


End file.
